


Pretend you're fine

by ZoenOut



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angry Aziraphale (Good Omens), Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crying, Crying Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crying Crowley (Good Omens), Demons Are Assholes, Hurt Crowley, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Men Crying, Physical Abuse, Serious Injuries, Sickfic, Strong Aziraphale (Good Omens), Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26562445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoenOut/pseuds/ZoenOut
Summary: Crowley knows to watch his back when in hell. He knows you're never safe down there. This time he doesn't suceed in keeping himself safe. No one cares to help him. Maybe if he just imagines that he's fine he will be?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 130





	Pretend you're fine

Crowley made his way through hells dingy, dark and damp corridors. Past the flickering lights, past the horde of other demons smelling like death itself. He kept close to the wall, only three sides to keep track of then. Only three directions that you have to watch out for. That was his strategy. It tended to work well for him, he tended to get back to earth unscathed. Once he hadn’t. That was right after the flood. He wasn’t as careful then and he paid the price, after that he was always in a hurry to get out of hell as soon as he was done with whatever prompted him to go there in the first place. These thoughts always swirled in his head when he was down there, he always hoped they didn’t play out on his face. Any show of weakness could fuck you over. His coat-tails fluttered behind him as he walked as quickly as he could without running. Then he bumped into someone. A hand grabbed his hair. Then ripped it out.

Crowley didn’t have time to think, he spun around and struck blindly. The back of his hand hit the demon, it struck them in the face. By then it was already too late. Crowley wasn’t good at fighting and this fight was on. The other demon punched him at the right cheekbone, below the eye. Crowley’s head was thrusted into the wall. It made a loud thumping sound, it echoed through his head and every demon in that hall turned their attention to this. 

They turned their attention to the curly haired demon kicking the flash bastard laying on the floor. Kick, kick, kick, kick. The red-head flinched every time the other demon's foot was thrown into his ribs. They stared in delight as the serpent's eye-whites turned yellow as instincts took over. They smiled as the curly one lifted the other to eye-level and spat in his face. They chuckled as the red-head got hurled onto the ground and told to “Crawl back to earth!” And then they moved on. They didn’t think about how the water on the floor was now slightly red. 

Crowley’s entire body ached, a pounding pain came with every heartbeat. His adrenaline was rushing yet it still hurt. His ribs were the worst of it, he coughed and felt his entire body shake. He could vomit. Instead he scrambled to his feet, desperately trying to just get out, get out, get out, get out. His legs barely held him as he rushed out.  
“Yeah you go serpent! Crawl back to earth!”  
He was laughed at as he ran, someone stuck out a foot and tripped him. He tumbled over and ended up on the floor. He hit his tailbone as he landed. Roars of laughter filled his ears as he got up and kept running. Tears filled his eyes and he tried to blink them away. He saw the main exit now, he tried to imagine that he was fine. After he got out he’d be perfectly fine. He’d be fine. He was fine even though his legs were starting to hurt, even though his cheek pounded, even though his ribs felt like they were imploding. He got through the door. He stumbled up the stairs and fell hard onto the floor. He had gotten out. 

Then the reality hit him. The adrenaline had slipped off him, he couldn’t move. His rib felt broken. He was seriously injured and he was alone. He started to shake where he lay, he actually cried now. No one came through here anymore, no demons going to earth, no angels would care. No one would care to help him. That was a terrifying thought. Even more terrifying since he knew it was true. He’d be here alone until he could miracle himself well or until his rib healed itself. The cold floor did nothing to make his cheek feel better, if anything it amplified the warm pounding pain. His entire head pounded. It was nearly unbearable. It hurt to breathe. His entire being was trying to tell him that something was seriously wrong. He couldn’t move. He sobbed, that made everything hurt even more than before. He was alone, no one would save him. He was starting to black out, he could feel it. He didn’t have enough energy to keep his eyes open anymore. He heard the mumble of a distressed voice he thought might be his own. He couldn’t think anymore, his brain came to a halt. A few centuries later he could describe what he saw, static. He felt his head fall back and then that was all there was, static.

***

Crowley awoke with a splitting headache. Everything was too bright, he squeezed his eyes shut with a groan. Then tried to move his hands to cover them, it was as if there was a delay between thought and action. He missed, his hand landed on his right cheek. He yelped, a sharp pain filled his cheek. He heard someone come rushing. The feet hitting the wooden floor were all too loud and made his head hurt even more, it felt as if someone was pressing at both sides, getting tighter and tighter without stopping. Then he felt his rib, even worse than he remembered. Maybe two were broken and not just one… First when a hand gently took his did he notice that he wasn’t lying on the cold floor anymore. Someone was talking but he couldn’t make out the words, this time he was pretty sure it wasn’t himself.  
“I’s bright…” he got out.  
Immediately there was more walking, then rustling of fabric. Crowley whimpered at the noise, then noticed that it had gotten darker. He tried to open his eyes again, blinking to adjust to the dim room. His peripheral vision was blurry and he felt slightly dizzy but he could see now at least. Someone again took his hand, he flinched. He rolled his head back in agony, his ribs, his head, his cheek, his legs… He took a deep breath then regretted it immediately. The hand was back, this time he let it. It gently held his hand and then someone started talking. The voice was familiar but he was too tired to place it. He had to keep full focus to even understand a single word.  
“Dear --- what -- ---- -------? A-- --- alright?”  
Then he couldn’t make out anything more. He tried to say something to answer but the words got muddied in his mouth, all that came out was a mumble. He felt something cold touch his lips, someone was holding his chin. The cold liquid travelled into his mouth and he swallowed, just trying to be as cooperative as possible. He heard the next word, even if it was a bit unclear.  
“Good.”  
He’d been good. It was a nice feeling. The next time he found water in his mouth he swallowed again, he wanted to be good. Except this time he was too fast, the water got caught on the inside of his throat. He coughed, his ribs protested, he coughed again and it hurt. It hurt, badly.  
“Oh ----. ---- i- slowe- ---- ----.”  
Slower. Okay. Slower. The next time it went down without issue.  
“Good.”  
He’d done it. He could do it. He wanted to keep doing it, keep being good. Every time he managed to get the water down was a win. Every time he got happier. Also more tired, exhausted. Eventually he must’ve gone to sleep. 

The next time he woke up it didn’t hurt quite as much. It was still dark in the room, still quiet. He tried to look around, he was laying in a bed. A soft one at that. When the pain had subsided a bit he could feel that his right eye was nearly closed, he couldn’t get it to open more than it already was. His head was laying on a pile of pillows, they were big and fluffy and they kept him from moving his head. He was alone in the room. No one was there with him anymore. He started feeling lonely, abandoned. His eyes filled with tears, they slipped down his cheeks. He quietly sobbed. Then someone pushed the door open, just slightly at first then enough to come in. This time he could register who it was. He wasn’t sad anymore, he was mortified. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He’d embarrass himself completely.  
“Oh dear boy I’m sorry!”  
Aziraphales voice was warm. Crowley tried to wipe his eyes, he soon gave up on the right one. Aziraphale got out a handkerchief and gently dabbed Crowley’s right cheek, then his left. 

“It’s raining today,” he said. But what he really meant was to ask “how are you feeling”. Sometimes it’s easier to say something other than what you mean.  
“Better,” Crowley answered.  
Aziraphale nodded, then seemed to think.  
“Look… you have a concussion. Probably something else as well. I’m guessing you have a better idea of what it is than I do.”  
Crowley averted his eyes then forced himself to answer.  
“The ribs.”  
“May I have a look? I’ll try to be as gentle as possible.”  
Crowley nodded and prepared himself while Aziraphale lifted off the covers and unbuttoned Crowley’s undershirt. The buttons only went down to mid-chest level, Aziraphale looked at them for a moment.  
“May I cut the shirt?”  
“Go ahead.”  
Aziraphale waved his hand and suddenly he was holding a pair of scissors.  
“Which side?”  
“The right.”  
Aziraphale nodded and began cutting the fabric, starting from the bottom and working his way up. He winced. He finished cutting the shirt until Crowley could see as well. Red, purple and blue. His entire side was red, purple and blue concentrated around two ribs. Aziraphale seemed distraught, Crowley was relieved. He didn’t see any bone coming through the skin, it was better than he had expected. He closed his eyes.  
“Dear… If you don’t mind, how did this happen?” Aziraphale sounded shaky.  
“Bumped into the wrong demon. Got beat up,” Crowley said in a monotone way. What more was there to say?  
His eyes shot open when he heard Aziraphale sniffle. Aziraphale was crying.  
“Hey! I’m fine. N-no need to cry over me?”  
Aziraphale looked at him with a mix of pity and unfiltered rage. Crowley hated both of those expressions.  
“You’re not fine!”  
His voice echoed through Crowley’s head, the headache was back at full force. He ignored it and tried to push it down. Imagine that you’re fine. You’re fine.  
“I am. I’m alive, I’m fine.”  
“Alive doesn’t equal fine, Crowley.” Aziraphale spoke every word with spite but Crowley knew it wasn’t directed at him.  
He lifted his hand and put it over Aziraphale’s. Just trying to keep him from going down there and smiting every demon he saw, just trying to get him to calm down. Trying to get him to stay.  
“Okay maybe not fine. But there’s no reason to get angry about it right? Not right now?”  
Aziraphale seemed to calm down. He didn’t necessarily put down his rage, it was more as if he saved it for later. “If I use it all now then I won’t have enough later, better put it on this shelf”, that kind of thing. The anger in his eyes didn’t go out entirely, it just dimmed.  
“I suppose you might be correct dear…” he sounded defeated.  
“Yeah. So don’t go running off to hell anytime soon.” Crowley was silent for a moment before he looked away and quietly added, “Don’t leave me here alone.”  
“I won’t. I promise.”


End file.
